


Deeper Waters

by burnitbright



Series: Enough [3]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-17
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:14:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25957315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burnitbright/pseuds/burnitbright
Summary: Gwaine's feeling for Merlin come out in the worst way.You can read this as a continuation of my Enough series or by itself. I wrote it to be part of the series but I think you won't miss much if you just pop in for this one.
Relationships: Gwaine/Merlin (Merlin)
Series: Enough [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1883995
Comments: 13
Kudos: 184





	Deeper Waters

The reports come in during the fall draught. Arthur is already inundated with desperate requests for food, money, anything please, his people need help. The crops have suffered and there is little room to move any resources around, much less the wheat stores. On top of that, there are visiting diplomats roaming the halls, asking him ridiculous questions, and he is confined to the castle to play host with them.

So it certainly does not help his mood to hear of a strange maiden in the marshes off of Thorngrove, luring men and women alike to a watery-grave.

That is how Merlin finds himself amongst the knights (and a very tired Arthur), gathered around the round table.

It's not uncommon for Merlin to be there. Not only is he Arthur's servant, but he's been studying under Gaius for some time, and is often included when there is a need for medical or arcane wisdom. 

Thankfully, he is smart enough to let them call for Gauis or Geoffrey when they need real magical insight.

But he is here today, ready to help, as subtly as he can.

“The reports from my men say it dwells in the shallows of a lake, a few days ride from here. It's more a swamp, really. But this thing has been drawing people into the deeps, possibly drowning them.” Leon notes. “A few have seen it doing its work, and say it looks like a...ah...a young woman. ” 

“What, like a siren?” One of the knights offers.

“Not all water-creatures are sirens, “ Merlin interjects. When all eyes look to him, he seems to remember himself, and adds “Well that’s what Gaius says. There’s...other stuff, there?” The knights nod, muttering among themselves about rumours of other sprites and creatures.

Arthur sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Is that all you can tell us, Merlin?”

“Well, no, Gaius has lots of books on-”

“Great, so you have more. It’s settled. You’ll go with them then. Figure out what this...thing is and take care of it. Yes?”

Leon nods, then stands to come near Arthur. He points at a place on the map, and speaks in hushed tones about the best approaches.

Elyan, who is seated in front of him, swivels in his seat to beam at Merlin. 

“Looks like you’ll be joining in the fun!” 

Across the table, Gwaine grins and waggles his eyebrows. 

Merlin can only smile.

\-------

Merlin is starting to get used to these trips. More and more, Arthur is placing his trust in him. It's different from their normal relationship, and Merlin often finds Arthur is too tired from his new role to even pretend Merlin is incapable. 

Sometimes, Merlin is proud of himself for it. Other times he hates it. The weight of what Arthur now has to carry is heavy, and he can't deny missing the easy levity they used to have. 

And Merlin is tired too. 

But Arthur needs him to be steady, to be reliable, and so he finds himself, weary in the early morning, packing his horse's saddle bags along with his knights. 

He's had so little sleep lately, staying up late nights with Arthur to go over reports, occasionally fussing over the washing or the floors, just to try and keep Arthur from being alone. When he does rest, it's on the palette in Arthur's room, or in a chair, his face pillowed by piles of unfinished paperwork and speeches and god-knows-what-else. 

Which is why he finds he cannot complain about this trip. He will worry about Arthur, he always does, but he can't help but breathe a little easier now. 

He's pulled from his guilt about this by a strong arm wrapping around his shoulders. He grins up at Gwaine, who is steering him towards the knight's own horse. 

"Merlin and Gwaine, off on another adventure! Oh, and Percy." He winks at Percival, who tries to hide his grin, and shakes his head. 

Gwaine drops his voice to a whisper, and he shoves something from his saddle bags into Merlin's hands. 

"Here Merls, you're looking a bit peckish." 

Before Merlin can reply, Gwaine is clapping him on the shoulder and setting off to bother Elyan. Merlin looks down, and can't help but smile at the pile of sweets Gwaine has thrust at him. He shakes his head and returns to his tackle. 

Maybe this trip will be just what he needs. 

\----------

It takes the better part of two days to reach the area that the reports are coming from, and it’s not a good ride. The land is rough, and dry from drought, and the horses seem to spook at every shadow. By midday, everyone is tired and cranky. 

Several times they have to dismount to lead the horses through difficult terrain. Merlin stumbles more than once, and Elyan nearly twists his ankle. 

There is not enough water in the skins, and the food they brought seems to have gone stale with unnatural speed. The bread is practically rock, and the cheese is no better.

By late afternoon on the second day, they are all silent and quite possibly murderous. Even Gwaine’s usual prattle and jesting has stopped.

\------

Finally, sometime in the evening hours, right before Leon can suggest setting up camp, they reach the lake.

The water is crystalline, blue and clear as a cloudless day. The banks are a clean white sand, no sign of algae or mirk. The smell of wildflowers perfumes the perimeter, mixed with a sent that Gwaine does not know how to describe except for summer. The sky above it even seems bright, like it was day instead of early evening. The waters are calm, with no sign of any magical beasties lurking around.

There is no sign of any creature actually, and this pristine lake does not match the descriptions, but the reports do not lie. Leon frowns and double checks the papers he's brought along. 

He mutters something to himself, but it's been a long ride, and it seems best to settle here for the night, where there is at least clean water. 

Gwaine hops down from his horse with glee, and brings his now empty water-skin to the edge of the shore.

“Finally! A decent drink!” 

Merlin laughs, his spirits lightened by the view. “Really Gwaine? We’re looking for a water-spirit, and you just go off and drink the first water that you find?”

Gwaine grins back. “Never look a gift horse in the mouth, Merls.” He scoops up a handful of the water, and his eyes nearly roll back in his head when it reaches his lips. He goes back in for another sip, and then he sees _her._

She’s standing, waist-deep in the water, where there was nothing but reeds a mere moment ago. She's gazing at him, and she's gorgeous, to say the least. Long waves of dark hair cascade down to full hips, a slight waist, ample breasts. Her eyes are wide with thick, dark lashes, her lips pouting. Her skin ripples like the water, a soft blue. He can see why it was so easy to lure those common folk now. He’d follow her into any back-alley tavern room.

There is something other-worldly about her though. Something not quite right. Or maybe too right. He's not sure. Her features are just slightly off. 

She looks at him with those strange, dark eyes for a moment, then crooks her finger invitingly, and something in him knows he must go to her. He drops his waterskin onto the shore. 

The other knights behind him stop what they are doing, and he can hear their whispers. He does not know why, but he can’t seem to move back to them.

It happens so quickly, and so slowly, all at the same time.

He thinks he hears his name. On her lips? On theirs? He's not sure, his mind feels muddled all of the sudden. 

It doesn't matter, he has to go forward.

“My my, a knight.” Her voice is like a song, it’s so lovely. It rolls over him like a fog over the evening, and he melts into it.

She eyes him up and down, then smiles, razor sharp teeth peeking out between her lips. There is a knowing look on her face, as if she could crack open his ribs and see his heart. She knows and he must go to her. 

He doesn't remember moving this far into the water, but he's up past his thighs now, so much closer to where he needs to be.

But she's backing away, still curling her finger, still asking him to follow. "What do you desire, wanderer?” She croons, and Gwaine lurches forward, ready to let the words trip off his tongue, tell her everything he wants, what he needs, what makes him ache in his bones. 

The voice calling his name comes again, and it is not hers. Everything stops for a moment as the voice echoes around him.

Gwaine stares at her, then shakes his head, trying to dislodge her words, which seem to have fingers of their own, sifting through his mind. She may be beautiful, but she is not what he really wants, and that is what her spell is groping around in his head for.

He unsheathes his sword, keeping his eyes on her. “Nothing you can offer,” he grits out, trying to keep his footing on the slick lake floor while her voice is ringing in his ears.

“Oh no?” She asks coyly. She raises her hand, and the air behind her ripples. The fog shifts, twirling and folding itself into a dense, colored mist. It coils through the air, shaping itself into an image, and Gwaine cannot be seeing what he is.

_The scene itself is a work of art. It’s clearly a room in the knights’ quarters, but a nicer one than Gwaine currently has. A captain’s room, perhaps. The stones are clean and polished, the wooden furniture gleaming. The bed is larger and made up with the softest looking sheets, a fur blanket folded up at the base, feather pillows. It's all gilded in a soft, warm light._

_Which is nothing compared to what is in the bed. Which is a dozing, naked-from-the-waist-up Merlin. His face is relaxed, his body at ease._

_There is the creak of a door, and Gwaine-but-not-Gwaine walks in slowly, clothed in armour and gilded with the markings of a knight captain. He stops, taking his fill of his sleeping lover’s visage. Gwaine smiles, then sets his travel bag down and goes about removing his armour as quietly as possible._

_He’d been on an extended patrol, an unfortunate side-effect of his promotion, but now he was home. He’d meant to be home the day before, and the remnants of what was clearly meant to be dinner and wine for two on the table bring a pang of guilt to his heart._

_He should call for a bath, but to do so would mean waking Merlin, so he settles for changing into a clean set of sleeping clothes and a quick wipe down at the water basin._

_He sets himself on the bed carefully, allows himself the pleasure of running a hand down Merlin’s arm, then back up to his neck, cupping his lover’s face gently in his palm._

_Despite his cautious touch, Merlin blinks awake. When his eyes focus on Gwaine, he smiles sleepily and curls into Gwaine’s hand._

_“‘Morning” he mumbles, eyes falling closed again._

_He looks like a spoiled cat, the way the sunlight is streaming in, painting him gold, the way he’s nuzzling into Gwaine's hand, practically purring with happiness._

_And that’s just how Gwaine likes him._

_Overcome with a sudden rush of passion, the knight swoops in to steal a kiss. First Merlin’s mouth, then his eyelids, his forehead, back to his mouth, then down to his neck, the space right under his left ear. Merlin giggles and swats at him, but it’s all in good fun._

_“Can’t deny a man the joy of pleasing his husband on his anniversary”, Gwaine chides into Merlin’s collarbone._

_“Oh, is it that time already?”_

_Gwaine hums and nuzzles under Merlin’s chin. “Afraid so, love. And as you haven’t left me yet, it looks like you’ll have another year of me, at least.”_

_Merlin laughs, this time louder and clearer._

_“Oh dear, I suppose I’d better get used to you then.” He sighs dramatically, pulling away from Gwaine to throw an arm over his eyes. “I suppose I must let you have me then, as my husbandly duties require. Be gentle.”_

_It’s Gwaine’s turn to laugh now. He pulls Merlin back over to him, under him, and envelopes his lover in another kiss, this one deeper and longer. Merlin presses back eagerly, his hands scrambling for purchase on Gwaine’s shoulder blades, trying to draw him in._

And just as quickly as it came, the vision fades, and so does every tiny shard of happiness and hope that has ever buried its way into Gwaine’s chest.

“No!” He hears himself shout, “No, please, bring it back!” He surges forward in the pond, which now seems more of a swamp. There’s a sickly odor, and the water is a grayish-green, the air thick and foggy. There is splashing behind him, someone or several someone's coming for him.

It doesn’t matter. He has to have that light again, has to get to where things were good, were perfect, again.

There! He sees her up ahead, her head cocked slightly, a knowing look in those dark eyes. There’s a soft blue light behind her, and the sound of Merlin's laugh rings from it. 

He sloshes on, almost up to his neck in muck and swamp water. But it’s alright, it doesn’t matter if he can get to that light.

Someone is pulling him out, or trying to. He shouts and fights, kicks and bites, but they are pulling him away, away from that light. His light. He strikes back, blindly, ferally. Desperation is knawing at his stomach. He has to get back to that other place. He has to.

Then he hears it. Over the dull roar of other voices, of the laughing Dream-Merlin. A voice he’d know anywhere, that no magic could ever truly replicate. 

And it’s awful in its sadness, its fear.

“Gwaine, Gwaine please!” The voice is sobbing, he can tell, and it pulls at a string in his heart to hear it. “Please stop! Just come back!” The voice is becoming more desperate as it calls, calls him away from the beautiful blue, but he cannot deny it. “Please,” it shrieks, and Gwaine finds himself helpless. Somewhere in his mind he knows that voice, and it yanks him away from the light with a strength no human man’s hands could wield.

The spell does not shatter, but it does crack. He can hear now, Merlin, _his_ Merlin, is calling for him, begging for him to come back. It cuts clearly through all the other sounds, of knights yelling and the monster crooning.

_His_ Merlin needs him, and he is going back. Has to go back. _His_ Merlin needs him.

But that is not what the water spirit (is it a spirit? he's not sure) wants. She pushes her hands forward, and the knights that have swum so valiantly to Gwaine's rescue are pushed back by a wave that twists itself to avoid him. There is no sound as the creature glides across the water to Gwaine, nearly grazing him as she circles his face with her hands.

“You can have it,” that silky, unnatural voice whispers, “All of it. Everything. Him, just the way you want him. Anything you want.” 

Anger suddenly surges in his chest, and Gwaine remembers himself. He throws himself backwards and swims, desperately for shore. _His_ Merlin needs him and she has no idea of what he really wants if she thinks he would leave him. 

Gwaine doesn’t know when he gets close, but there are suddenly multiple hands on him, hulling him out of the water and onto the mucky banks.

The world spins back into him. He hears the clang of metal, knows the spirit is being dispatched, feels the slimy water in his boots, the mud clinging to his hair, the dizzying rush of the spell leaving his system.

And it’s so much. Too much. He closes his eyes, and let’s himself leave it all behind.

\------

When he opens his eyes, less time than he’d hoped has passed. He's laid out on a bedroll, but it's not his. Someone has wiped away the grime from the swamp, set him in clean clothes. There is a fire, a make-shift camp, and the tent that they only pitch when they have to is up. For him, he thinks grimly, to hide from the shame. 

The other knights are gathered around the fire, where a pot is bubbling over the flames, the smell of rabbit and herbs wafting from it. He has no idea where the fuck they got that, but he isn't complaining. 

Percival notices him first, and gives a half-hearted smile. He gestures with his bowl, too quickly as broth sloshes out. “Look who’s up!” His voice is artificially cheery. 

The others turn and give him the same plastered on face. All, except for Leon, who comes over to him quickly.

“Look here,” he instructs, and moves his finger in front of Gwaine’s face. He tracks the other man’s eyes, then nods and moves to check his pulse, his breathing. Leon is quite skilled in battle medicine, but he is not Merlin.

Gwaine’s heart sinks when he realizes what that means.

Merlin will not see him. Cannot see him. Hates him, or else he would be here, doing this instead of Leon. 

He shoves Leon’s hands away, and moves to curl back into himself, willing his bedroll to sink into the ground and take him with it.

“You need to eat,” Leon says softly. “Eat, and then you can sleep.”

It’s a good offer. Gwaine sighs and picks his body up. Percival hands him a bowl of the stew, that same weak smile on his face.

“Not as good as usual I’m afraid, but it’s not half-” He’s cut off by Elyan jabbing a sharp elbow into his side. 

“What?” He snaps, as Elyan widens his eyes.

“Oh. Right. Well, I made it tonight, hope it’s not too bad.”

There’s a moment of silence as Gwaine takes the bowl. Then Leon speaks.

“He won’t hate you, you know.”

And Gwaine wants to laugh. Of course he does, how could Merlin not hate him? He’s not even fucking here, he won’t even be near Gwaine-

Elyan grips his shoulder. “Gwaine, it’s Merlin. He’ll understand.”

Leon nods. “You should at least let him look at you. He knows more about this than any of us.”

Gwaine’s face is suddenly hot. Knows more...what? More about magical creatures? They must know he has magic. Something in his dream must have given it away. Which means Merlin is in danger, which means-

“Right,” Elyan chimes back in, “He and Gaius see these sort of enchantments and injuries all the time.”

Oh.

The panic abandons him for a moment, leaving his chest uncomfortably hollow.

Percival leans over to grasp his other shoulder. “Gwaine,” he says softly, a whisper, “It’s going to be alright.”

Gwaine just shakes his head, setting the bowl down. 

“You don’t understand. The way he looked at me, the way he was around me...he won’t ever...I can’t…” He trails off, hiding his face in his hands. There is no way to explain what he just lost. What Merlin just lost.

Leon opens his mouth to speak again, and Gwaine is hit by an overwelmimg surge of anger. 

“Just leave me be! Let me get some goddamn rest!” And this is not him. Gwaine does not snap, he doesn’t speak to his friends- or anyone, for that matter- like this. But he does not feel very much like himself right now and he doesn’t care.

He forces himself up, sways in front of his worried and dismayed friends, and stalks off to the tent, kicking the bowl of stew as he passes it. There is relief as he finally finds himself alone. The upside of being injured, he supposes, is getting the best place to sleep.

Or it would be, but his attempts to settle in are cut off by shouting outside the tent. He knows that voice, and his heart sinks as he hears it.

“I don’t care! Let me fucking see him! Fucking move, just let me see him!”

He closes his eyes. Merlin is either desperate to see him because he’s angry, or because he’s too nice of a person and wants to comfort Gwaine despite how pathetic Gwaine is. He’s not sure which is worse. 

Then the tent flap opens violently, and Merlin is standing there, chest heaving, looking like a storm. He looks Gwaine up and down, breathes deeply, and all of the energy of his rage falls away. Now he just looks tired, and as if to prove that thought, he sinks to his knees.

“They wouldn’t let me see you,” he whispers, “I thought you were-” Merlin stops, unable to finish the sentence, and swallows the word back down.

“I’m alright love. A little worse for wear, but I think I pull off nearly-killed-by-a-magic-lake-monster quite well.” 

Gwaine flashes Merlin a weak smile, and before he can say another word, he’s hit with all the barely-there weight Merlin has as the warlock crashes into his arms. He pushes himself in just like he's done to Gwaine's heart, wriggling into all the nooks and crannies no one was ever supposed to find. And he fits perfectly.

“I thought you were dead”, he mumbles into Gwaine’s neck as he finishes his shifting. 

Gwaine doesn’t know what to say to that, so he says nothing.

They stay like that for a while- Gwaine’s not sure how long. But eventually, some of the tension leaves Merlin’s body. The younger man does not release his grip or loosen his hold, but Gwaine finds he doesn’t mind. If this is the last time he gets to hold Merlin, he wants it to matter. He wants to have little bruises from Merlin’s fingers holding firm on his arm, his back. He wants an ache from how hard Merlin is crushing his ribs.

They stay like that, until Merlin’s grip softens.

And Gwaine knows it’s over. Merlin is asleep and will come to his senses and in the morning he will, in his sweet Merlin way, turn Gwaine away. 

Closing his eyes, Gwaine has his last fill of Merlin. He nuzzles into that spot under Merlin’s ear, and presses a soft kiss there, as he has every night that Merlin has blessed him with his presence. One last good-bye.

“I hate that, you know.” 

Gwaine freezes. Merlin was apparently not as asleep as he’d believed. And, Gods, he’d been given a second chance and still managed to fuck that up? 

“Do you have any idea how much sleep I lose waiting for you to do that?” Merlin drawls, voice heavy with exhaustion, “It’s honestly your worst habit.” 

Gwaine finds himself chuckling, despite how heavy his heart feels. “Sorry, I’ll be sure to secretly kiss you less secretly from now on.” 

Merlin snorts, then pauses, and shifts to push himself up on his elbows. He looks at Gwaine sternly for a moment, then leans in close. He traces his index finger lightly over Gwaine’s chest, swirling it as he bites his lip.

After a moment, he finally whispers, “I’m sorry that you can’t have your dream, Gwaine.” He continues drawing the pattern, but his hands have a slight tremor to them. 

Gwaine could cry from it. Here he has opened Merlin up like a clam, shown everyone the bits of Merlin that only he sees, that he has no right to _know_ much less share... has opened himself up in the same way and shown everyone that they were right about him, that he is weak and needy and wanting, and Merlin is apologizing to _him?_

Gods, he truly does not deserve this wonderful, caring light that is tucked into his arms, like it’s safe. 

And he's known. He's known, somewhere in his head, that what he wanted was impossible. To hear it spoken out loud is quite another thing entirely. But Merlin is trying to be kind, so in turn he must be brave.

“That’s alright,” he chokes out after a moment, because really, what else can he say?

“It’s just...it’s a bit ridiculous, isn’t it?” Gwaine winces. Maybe this won’t be handled with Merlin’s usual soft-touch. “I mean, c’mon Gwaine. That lighting? In the knight’s quarters? At that hour?” Merlin clucks and shakes his head before turning to give Gwaine a cheeky grin. “You’d never get it. Shame.”

He sighs and curls back in, tucking himself under Gwaine’s arm. “Suppose you’ll just have to settle for the rest of it.”

Gwaine just blinks at him. The sounds coming out of Merlin's mouth do not make sense. 

“Really though,” Merlin continues, not looking up, “I’m not really sure how to do this.” He laughs nervously, toying with the collar of Gwaine’s shirt. “I don’t really...I haven’t really done this much. Been with other people the way you have. I don’t think it’s going to be as perfect as your dream.”

“I’m not… I’m not looking for a good fuck, Merlin.”

Merlin isn’t looking at him. “I know, I just...it wouldn’t be that nice. I can’t give you what you’re looking for. I...being my friend, knowing about me, it’s asking so much.” He looks up, eyes wet with tears. “You wouldn’t be happy. You’re already not happy. Always trying to protect me when you can’t, when nobody can…” He trails off and shakes his head.

Gwaine’s chest is aching. He drinks in what Merlin has said, but it doesn’t sit well. It curls under his ribs, like an animal, anxiously pacing, and he find he cannot contain it. So he steels himself, and forces the words out, as calmly as he can.

“That creature showed me two things. Two things that I want, desperately. The lesser of which was to be with you. Don’t look at me like that, it’s not how it sounds. The more important of the them, the one that really- the one I _really want_ with everything that I have- is how you were in that dream.” He stops, feeling his mouth go dry. But it’s now or never, and Merlin needs this _now._

“I want you to be happy. Really, truly happy. Not comforted, not content, not as-good-as-you-can-get in this fucking world that hates magic for no goddamn reason. Just...fucking happy.” He steels himself, feeling suddenly unable to find the word he wants. Of all the times for his charm to abandon him. But he has to push on. “I know it’s selfish, to want to be part of that happiness. But I do. Want it. And if you don’t want me, like that, that’s alright. But if you do, if it makes you happy...I’m sorry, I can’t accept anything less than giving you all that I can.”

“Gwaine-”

“Not finished.” He waits, and Merlin hesitates, then nods, closing his mouth tightly. This is the part he has to say. 

“I don’t care if I die for you tomorrow, or in six years, or never. I don’t care if it’s a hard road to walk, as long as I walk it with you.”

Merlin laughs thickly, wiping eyes that are wet and tired. “Used that line a lot, have you?” 

Gwaine reaches out to brush away the tears that are breaking past Merlin’s defenses. “Nah. Just testing it out.”

And Merlin laughs again, but honestly this time. He laughs and laughs and laughs, and curls into Gwaine’s chest, burrowing that beautiful sound into Gwaine’s bones.

\------

Gwaine is not who he would have picked out for Merlin. He would have chosen someone like Lancelot, kind and noble. Or Leon, sturdy and dependable. Maybe Percy, strong enough to defend Merlin, and soft when no one’s looking. Probably not Elyan. He carries that same troublesome streak as Gwaine. 

Maybe Arthur. No, definitely not Arthur.

But Merlin wants _him_ , and even if he’s not perfect, he will try to be for Merlin. Try to be better. Try to be-

His rushed thoughts stop abruptly, as a soft mouth nudges against his throat, pressing a light kiss there. Merlin pulls away shyly, and smiles up at him, before placing another, slightly firmer kiss to the corner of Gwaine’s mouth. He pulls back and bites his lip, bright eyes waiting for the knight to respond. 

And maybe, maybe this time, Gwaine is really, truly enough.


End file.
